


Splendid Isolation

by bibliothekara



Category: Ted Lasso (TV)
Genre: (oh so much profanity), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Multi, Pre-Relationship, Swearing, angst and hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26951812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliothekara/pseuds/bibliothekara
Summary: AFC Richmond is working its way back, he's still with Keeley, life is going pretty well for Roy Kent....so why is he stuck in a Range Rover with Jamie Tartt, driving 5 hours to sodding Cornwall?To find his manager, and bring him home.(Because sometimes things are going well, right up until the point they're really, really not.)
Relationships: Roy Kent/ Keeley Jones, Ted Lasso / Rebecca Welton (implied)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 122





	1. Yellow Car

**Author's Note:**

> Set mid-theoretical S2. Gen fic, with Established Keeley/Roy, implied Rebecca/Ted. (I LOVE EVERYONE IN THIS FICTIONAL FOOTBALL CLUB BAR). Canon-typical profanity.  
> Title from the Warren Zevon song (h/t to Emily Van der Werff’s Quarantine playlist.)

“...yellow car.” 

“I swear to god, if you keep doing that.”

“You’ll make me get out and walk the length of the A30?”

“Jamie.”

“Leave me on Dartmoor for the werewolves and the genetic mutants to eat, will ya?”

“Prick.”

“At least let me turn the radio.”

“No.”

“It’s my fucking car, Roy.”

“And I’m driving, so fuck. the fucking. radio.”

“Prick.”

“Wanker.”

1 more hour to the spot they’d been given. Roy Kent could make it 1 more hour without killing Jamie Tartt in his own Range Rover. For one thing, Keeley wouldn’t like it, and for another, getting blood out of Eucalyptus Melange upholstery was probably difficult enough that it wasn't worth it.

Should have taken Linda’s advice back in the day, should have gone with the Lexus SUV. But NO, Roy had to go with the fucking Tesla, had to be environmentally conscious, and the thing had to be in the shop this week.

Somehow, driving 5 hours to Cornwall with Jamie in shotgun was all Elon Musk’s fault, he was sure of it.

It was Ted’s fault too, believe you me, but Roy was tabling that for when they found him. 

“We’re going to find him, Roy. It’ll be fine. We’ll find him, we’ll give him the business, we’ll drag him home.”

Of course the kid had to be psychic at the least convenient moment.

****

Sam had been the first one to point it out. 

“Cap, is the gaffer off home today?”

Roy grimaced, and snapped at the young defender a little quicker than he liked.

“How should I know? Maybe he’s holding court in that coffee shop again. He’ll be in.”

Obisanya recoiled a little bit, but not as much as he used to (the boys were significantly less intimidated, he’d have to work on that). “I know, I know”, he said, smiling and raising his hands placatingly, “but he said he’d be in this morning to work with me on the new lines. 10AM on the dot. It’s not like him, I’m just saying.”

No, it wasn’t.

“Yeah, I know it isn’t.” Roy frowned, audibly.

Isaac jumped in at this point, looking as mildly perturbed as Sam.

“He took that draw at Barnsley pretty hard.”

“It was a tough thing.”

"I mean, he took it *well* hard. Too quiet. Not like him.”

The puppy dog eyes of both young men in unison were too much (he was getting soft in his old age).

“All right- FUCK, all right, stop looking at me in that tone of voice, I’ll see what’s occurring.”

“Check with Nate-” “Of course I’ll check with bloody Nate, piss off!!”

***

“Did, you, know, that the UK is home to 25 separate species of breeding seabird?”

“Thank you, Sandi bloody Toksvig.”

“It’s true. 18 in Britain, 8 in Ireland.”

“Are you just googling, Facts To Drive Roy Kent into a murderous rage?”

“I’m improving my mind!’

“What little there is to improve…”

“Keeley said I should.”

“She did, did she?”

“Something about getting better branding as The Thinking Women’s Crumpet.”

Roy could only growl in response. 45 more minutes. 44. 43.

***

Nate was somewhat less helpful than Roy might have expected. And more taciturn, which was unnerving.

“No, sorry Roy, can’t help you there.”

Did Nate seem more nervous than usual? But then he always seemed nervous, still, enough that Roy really couldn’t determine gradations.

“Right, fine, I’ll go ask…”

“Except, except except except...”

There’s the Nate he knew and… well, tolerated, had begrudging nameless affection for, etc.

“Except what?”

“I don’t think he’s been sleeping.”

“How the fuck could you tell that?”

“I can’t, really, but, more sugar in his coffee, his response times. Staring off into space, like. He just…”

“Doesn’t seem like the gaffer.” It was becoming a chorus. 

Which, when he went to Higgins for assistance, unexpectedly added an asshole tenor.

“Grandad.”

“Zygote.”

He was okay with Tartt being back. ...No, that was an utter fucking lie. But he had come to terms with it. …Also a lie, but he could deal with it, because he was an adult man. (And also Keeley had found him...not a great therapist, yet, but a halfway decent one.)

Because Ted Lasso had said it was what Richmond needed, and somewhere along he’d found a manager he’d walk into fire for. (Wasn’t that just a kick in the bollocks.)

Higgins was calling every single number in his considerable book, over in the other corner of the press room.

“What’d you fuck up now?” That smirk on Jamie’s face made Roy want to punch him again. However, by an hour into this search, worry was soon overwhelming most of his other emotions. So he decided to dispense with the usual prodding and taunting.

“Gaffer’s missing.”

“What?”

“MISSING. Hasn’t come in this morning, missed an appointment with Obisanya, non present, unavailable, A double U Oh fucking Hell.”

“All right all right, he’s off home. There’s that stomach bug going around, maybe he’s just poorly.”

“Not call anyone? Not text? This is Ted Lasso we’re talking about, he communicates, constantly, AT LENGTH, whether you want him to or not.”

The Jamie Tartt of the previous season would have kept smirking. The Jamie of two years prior would have made some snarky remark. 

The Jamie in front of Roy, right now...his face noticeably fell. But he quickly regained its composure when Higgins came back over from his phone calls. 

“That was his landlady and his neighbor.”

Roy let out a breath. “Miz Shipley? She’ll have found him surely, give him a right telling off.”

Higgins was quiet for a moment. Roy’s heart beat a tiny bit faster.

Jamie broke the silence.

“Come on, mate, no gentleman’s discretion, he’s puking his guts out, right?”

“Apparently...he didn’t come home. She hasn’t talked to him since Tuesday."

The only thing Roy could say to that was the obvious.

“...well, shit.”

***

“Turn the radio.”

“No.”

“Please turn the radio.”

“No.”

“Mate, please for THE LOVE OF CHRIST turn the radio. I can’t take another minute of fucking sea shanties. Anything, anything.”

Roy was quiet for a moment, and then reached over to the phone screen on the dash, pressing a few buttons.

Jamie remained silent as the stream buffered.

“...Radio 3? AUGH.”

Roy broadly grinned as the dulcet tones of Respighi’s “Pines of Rome” filled the car.

***

Somewhere along the line Jamie had decided that Roy would only fuck up the search for Ted if left to, and refused to leave his side.

Roy, underneath, appreciated the kid’s worry, really he did. But this looked to be a marathon, not a sprint, and if they didn't pace their contact, homicide might be a real possibility.

So, he was incredibly relieved when Tartt came up with the idea of calling his favorite pet paparazzi, in case any of them had been stalking Ted at a useful moment. Roy quickly corralled Keeley into the effort, even if the thought of the exes working together still made him grind his teeth.

The teeth grinding only increased when Roy finally found Beard, down in the training room.

“Where have you fucking been? The one time you aren’t Hoover suctioned to his side…”

Kent stopped yelling as he got a good look at the thinner man’s face. It was never the most expressive of faces, but Beard looked drawn and stressed. 

“He hasn’t come in today?”

That response almost started Roy off again, but something made him pause.

“No. He missed a conference with Sam. Higgins called his landlady, she didn’t hear him come home last night.”

The wince on Beard’s face would have been imperceptible on anybody else. But to Roy, it was as drastic as a gasp. The young coach said nothing in response, though.

“When I left last night, you two were working on the plan for the Cardiff City match. Did he say anything?”

Again, no response. Roy’s anger coiled around, but he caught hold of it.

“Jesus fuck, Beard, give us a little help here.”

Coach looked to the side, towards the schedule board, and then back.

“We had...words.”

Roy gave a low whistle. For the man to describe it that way...it must have been a knock-down, drag-out. 

“Well. All right then.” He turned to go.

“Keeley and Jamie are calling around, I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

Roy just reached the door, when he heard Beard whisper.

“It’s Memphis, again. Damn it.”

***

There may have been a few civilians, walking the Truro high street on a lazy Thursday morning, who saw it.

There may have been a couple old ladies, back from the shops with their packages, who saw two professional footballers in a matte black Range Rover, singing The Proclaimers at the top of their lungs. 

But there is no photographic or videographic proof, and both participants will strenuously deny it if questioned.

***

Finally, a break. 

“Found him!”

Keeley was yelling this while in motion (god Roy loved to watch her move), walking towards the two men in the parking lot. She looked as tense as they felt, but as she always said, “better working than worrying”. 

“Called Emily Dranowski, freelances for the Independent. Said a friend of a friend of a friend spotted Ted at Victoria Station last night. Around 9PM.”

This threw both Roy and Jamie for a loop. Jamie spoke first.

“The *bus* station?”

Roy cocked an eyebrow. “Well, at least he’s not off driving the M1 in rush hour, that’s a small mercy.”

“Trawled Twitt-er and the ‘Gram for a bit, and apparently someone caught a picture of him buying a ticket for St. Ives.”

Now Jamie was more confused than worried. “That can’t be right? Cornwall? Fucking Cornwall? I didn’t even think he knew where it was!!”

Roy caught Keeley’s eyes directly again. “Did Rebecca say anything?”

Keeley grimaced back. “Mate, no, don’t go there, that’s...it’s complicated right now.”

Now Roy let loose. “What, is she steamed at him too? What is going ON with everybody this week? The Barnsley draw wasn’t THAT bad.”

Jamie huffed a cynical laugh. “Bloke, where have YOU been? When Keeley says complicated, she means….*complicated*.”

“No. Really? They shagged too?”

Keeley smiled a little bit. “....no.”

“Whaddya mean, no?”

Jamie joined in with that infuriating smirk. “She means- “ (he interjected an inscrutable hand gesture) “- no.”

Roy sighed the sigh of the damned. His boss and his gaffer were squiffy for each other, great, as if his life wasn’t complicated enough.“We don’t have bloody time for this. Keeley, did you find out any more than that?”

“Oh, loads, Thank god for small town social media. Last spotted this morning at a pub in Falmouth, called the Captain Kidd.”

Roy felt relieved. Now, they had something. Granted, that something was driving five hours to the back of beyond, and dragging their coach home by his infuriatingly luxurious mustache. But it was something.

Except- goddamn it.

“Cock it, my car is in the shop.”

Jamie grinned even more broadly. “No worries, grandad, we’ll take mine, it’s fully kitted up and ready to go.”

“...we?”

Roy Kent was really going to regret this.

***


	2. Land of The Pixies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy and Jamie have found Ted, but that's the start of their problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More canon typical profanity, oblique discussion of mental health, discussion of pre-canon character death.

Roy parked the Rover in the one spot outside the Kidd that looked like it would accommodate the width; and, to many eye rolls from Jamie, took his time about it.

“Come onnn.”

“You don’t know some of these village coppers; this thing is a ticket magnet as is, I ain’t giving them one inch more past the line then necessary.”

It had been a long drive, and maybe Jamie had learned something, because he apparently decided not to choose this battle. Instead, he hustled past the ornate but not kitschy pirate decor at the entrance, swinging the doors and their double glazed windows wide. Roy followed a few seconds after, once the SUV was secure.

There was a desultory presence in the pub, but then again it was past 3 on a Thursday. Jamie had apparently zeroed in on the younger of the two staff, polishing glasses lazily at the booth over by the snooker table. He was giving her the Jamie Tartt Experience, certainly, but not the hard sell version. Roy looked around, and didn’t spot Ted, so he then made for the bar rail itself. A middle aged woman, with dark brown hair and somewhat lighter brown skin looked back. As he walked over, Roy could see her head bob in a familiar, chant-ish rhythm. Thankfully, however, she seemed eminently sensible and not one to make a fuss.

“You here for your mate then?”

She had volunteered this before Roy could even get his mouth open.

“...yes.”

“He’s through into the back- take a right at the gents, and then the single door straight through.”

“Thank you.”

And at this, the corners of her mouth quirked upwards, in an inscrutable, not quite sad, not quite happy expression. “Good luck with ‘im.”

What on earth could that mean? Roy shook his head, but followed her directions.

The somewhat claustrophobic brown wood opened up into a quite charming open stone yard, with a few tables and some bar umbrellas. He could smell the sea air again, and the call of a gull made him look upwards into the grey cloudy sky.

“Roy! How are ya, buddy? Good to see you!”

At this the tall man looked down again, over into the corner of the yard diagonally across. There sat Ted. In front of his laptop, with what looked like the remains of a fish and chip lunch, and...a cranberry juice, maybe. With the same bright eyes and wide smile he always seemed to have. Roy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, that he had maybe held all the way from Richmond.

And then his relief transmuted into annoyance. “Don’t you ‘buddy’ me! Do you know how many people you’ve got back in London, worried sick because you hopped the bus to the land of the bloody pixies?”

Ted’s face faltered for just a second, and then the facade went back up. “...I have no idea what that last bit of your sentence meant, but I am sorry. I honestly forgot about making that meeting with Sam. Hope he wasn’t offended.” 

The corner of Ted’s eyes crinkled regretfully as he said this, in a way Roy recognized. And god that was the infuriating thing, wasn’t it- Ted Lasso was rarely anything but utterly sincere. It disarmed you before you could get a step. 

But Roy would not be placated, even as he saw Jamie come out the door behind him, out of the corner of his eye. “Offended? Offended? Why would that be, just because our gaffer tore off at midnight-”

“9PM, actually…”

“SHUT IT, JAMIE. Just because he tore off, telling none of his friends where he was going, and we find him in a seaside dive-”

Ted did look offended at this. “Lorna and Kelly in there run a fine establishment, and I will not have you impugn the honor of the Kidd.”

Roy almost laughed in relief at this, and his anger lost a little bit of its steam. He took a breath to continue his harangue but Jamie jumped in.

“Look, mate, we’re just glad we found you. Let’s get in the car, and we can get out of here, no harm no foul. Simple little day trip to the coast.”

Something pained flew behind Ted’s eyes, but he obviously covered it up just as quickly as it had past. 

“Sorry boys, can’t do that. Not going back. Can I buy you some pints and supper before you go?”

***

Jamie looked back from the opposite end of the bar; where, after briefly suspending operations for a few hours, he had now succeeded in getting Kelly The Barmaid’s number. (Not that there was much chance of activities tonight, he thought. But a footballer never knew when you might be back in town again, and if she was ever in London…)

Not wanting to chance the dubiousness of a 5 hour Uber drive back to the city, and looking forward to driving his own damn car again, Jamie had volunteered as the designated, sticking to diet sodas instead of bitter. 

That is, if they ever made it back to the city. Nah, they would. They had to. “I came back to this bloody club for you, ya bastard.” He muttered under his breath. “So you’re coming back too, if I have to tie you up with baling twine.”

Shaking off that image, Jamie focused on the table that had formerly contained the three of them. 

“FUCK.”

It now contained remnants of burgers and chips, a significant number of pint glasses (the Americans could hold their beer, it turned out), but no Roy, and more importantly, no Ted. 

Jamie speedily reached tableside, where he could then spot Roy, over near the jukebox, on his mobile. 

“Where is he, ya twat??”

“Fuck off, I’m on the phone!”

“Fuck off fucking off, where’s Ted? "

Roy’s eyes quickly focused on the table and its important absence; he grimaced, and grunted in frustration at the phone. Jamie could hear Keeley’s familiar tones through the tinny handset. He couldn’t make out many words, except something that may have been “Duluth” (what the fuck was a Duluth?)

Jamie looked over at the front door of the pub, like he could almost see the slight swing from it having been opened. 

“Never mind then, I’ll find him. Jesus, got to do everything myself…” 

(That got him a two fingered salute from Roy as he left.)

The sky had cleared up significantly since their arrival that afternoon; the Kidd was far enough from the touristy part of town that you could look up and see a clear northern sky. Jamie took a moment to appreciate this; it was honestly his favorite part about being a footballer, the traveling. (Apart from the birds and the money, if he was also being honest.)

“Where would you get off to, you daft American?” Jamie wondered. He scanned the beach, looking up then down. Then he spotted a crop of boulders (or very large stones, but boulders sounded more appropriate), and booked it at a steady clip toward them.

Fortunately, Ted was still wearing his white polo shirt and light khakis, making him relatively easy to spot in the light of dusk.

The older man was sitting down on the sand, back to one of the smaller stones. His legs were cris-crossed, ankles atop each other, fingers wrapped around them. He was rocking back and forth, almost like a child, as he looked up. 

Jamie was silent for a moment, waiting for Ted’s focus to come in his direction. 

“It never gets old, you know.” Said Ted. When their eyes met, Jamie could see something unsteady there that hadn’t been before. He didn’t think it was the beer. The young man eased himself down next to his coach. 

“I know it doesn’t.”

“The sky, it’s always slightly different. I gotta take you to Nebraska sometime, kid, the moon on a clear prairie night, nothing around for miles, it would just bowl, you, over.”

Jamie chuckled. “I bet it would, Ted, at that.”

“But really nothing beats the water at night. I remember the first time Dad took us to Lake Michigan, hoo boy. I was 6 years old, I could stare at that horizon for hours, and hours. And then there was Chincoteague, the barrier islands, down there, North Carolina. And Dad wanted to get us up to Maine at some point, but…”

Ted trailed off.

Jamie ventured into what he knew was tetchy territory. “He passed, your dad, yeah?” 

Ted smiled, but it was a pained, quick expression. “He died, yes.”

“When you were a kid?”

“Oh, I was 16, hardly a kid at that point.”

“You were only a teenager though.”

Ted broke Jamie’s gaze, looked westwards, or somewhere he thought was that general direction.

“Can you imagine being the caveman, living down here? Coming down to this beach, thinking this was the end, I mean, THE END, the last bit of the world?”

A deep voice interrupted from behind them.

“Y’know, the end of the world is in Penzance, actually. About an hour’s drive in that direction.” Roy waved expansively at what was definitely NOT Penzance, if you asked Jamie. The non-waving hand also still held a pint glass. “If you start walking now, you might make it by morning.”

Ted stood up, though getting up from the dune sands was obviously a lot harder than getting down there had been. He flailed slightly for Jamie’s out-stretched elbow, but grasped hold.

“I won’t go back.” 

“Why’d you run, Ted?”

“I’m not going.”

“Why’d you run, Ted?”

There was something sharp and unfamiliar, in Roy’s voice, at which Jamie recoiled.

“I told you in the pub. It’s time for me to go, the Barnsley match proved it, this isn’t working out.”

“That’s bollocks, you know it, I know it, Jamie knows it. I called back to the Dog Track. Why’d you run, Ted?”

Something curdled in Ted’s gaze. He let go of Jamie’s arm, and loped up the beach towards Roy. A fire was in his eyes that Jamie hadn’t seen.

And when he spoke, there was a new bile to his tone. “It’s time for me to go, and not you, not Beard, not Re-...I did my best, and I failed, and I could go, and I don’t owe either of you a GOD. DAMN. THING.”

Ted had reached Roy, and practically hissed those last three words. Something alien, but also Ted. Like it was also, of Ted. Jamie held his breath, but Roy was as calm as the man had ever been.

“Go ahead. Hit me then. But we both know that that *is* fucking bollocks. And you’re getting in that car.”

Both men were breathing heavily. None of the three spoke. And then Ted broke the silence, sitting down heavily on the sand again. 

Roy sat down on Ted’s left. Jamie followed after a beat, on his other side.

“I can’t go back.” This, Ted whispered into his chest.

Jamie looked over to Roy. The man’s eyes were...well not soft, exactly. But understanding, as he sipped again from the pint glass, then handed it over to Ted. 

“Keeley said Rebecca's furious, but Beard’s pretty worried about you.”

“I know.”

“That you bawled him out pretty good.”

“I did.”

“Were you telling him the same bollocks you were telling me?”

Ted chuckled, wetly, although his eyes were dry.

“Pretty much.”

Jamie interjected at this.

“It’s just one game, gaff. Weren’t you the ones telling us about wins, losses, the bigger picture, all that.”

Ted smiled sadly, and looked over at Jamie. “Didn’t you know, kid? That I made all that up?” He laughed again, something closer to a sob.

Roy began to smile too. “Of course we did. But we believed it anyway.”

Ted actively began to cry at this, softly. The three were quiet for a moment, the pair waiting for the center to speak.

Which, eventually, he did. “You guys didn’t know me after my dad died. “

“Well, obviously”, growled Roy. 

Jamie latched on to it though.“Betcha you were a little bit...” He motioned with his hand straight as a plane.

“A little messed up in the head”, said Roy flatly.

“I think we get it, mate.”

Ted shook his head.

“I was more than that...I was livid. I was very angry, for a long time. Couldn’t explain to you how or why. It was a car accident. A traffic crash, slippery road, winter night, nobody’s fault. But I was so, so angry, not at anything, but everything. It consumed me. I don’t remember the kid I was age 16, 287 days, because I was different after. 

Didn’t like that guy. You wouldn’t like that guy. He partied too much, drove too fast, cut too close to the bone, drove people away. Nearly dropped out a few times, but some how, god knows, I made it to college, football scholarship.

And what saved me was, the game. It was the one part of my life where that guy couldn’t get me, where I had to hide him away. Where I could be someone different, not who I was, but someone better. I could make things better, I could help everybody be better.

I met Beard. And then I met Michelle. And piece by piece I bricked that guy up. Locked him away.”

Ted’s full body shuddered, and it wasn’t from the cold- but Jamie shucked his jacket and wrapped it around Ted’s shoulders anyway.

“But he’s still there. He’s waiting. And if I let him out, even for a moment, all of this...everything I built, everything you built, and Beard and Nate and Higgins….and Rebecca…” (Ted gulped air at this.) “It’ll come crashing down. And I couldn’t bear that.

I honestly don’t think I could survive it.” 

Jamie couldn't look at Ted, so he looked off toward the jetty. 

Roy nodded, and looked out over the grey-green sea.“That guy is always there, Ted. Like Nate said, you got to acknowledge he’s in there. Just got to, or you'll only be hurting yourself. Not saying terrify poor Beard or behave like a maniac, but you got to let him out occasionally, or -”

Jamie jumped in with the obvious.

“Or you end up on a bus 6 hours to fucking Cornwall!!”

The three of them laughed. And then Roy stood. 

“Let him out here.”

Ted looked up.“What?”

“Let him out here. We’re far away from everybody but the fishes and the fucking pub, let Evil Fucker Ted out here.”

Roy lowered his hand; Ted grabbed it and pulled himself up.

“Let him out for a bit. Jamie and I won’t tell a soul.”

Ted looked dubious for a minute, and then strode, unevenly towards- and then into- the sea. 

Jamie reached out, trying to warn him.“Ted don’t- ahhh, I think those shoes are ruined.” 

The two Brits waited, and then heard the most baroque and varied list of American curse words they had ever laid ears on.

Jamie turned to Roy.

“Was that Spanish in there?”

“And some German. Possibly a few words of Mandarin as well.”

Past that, there was a rage, at the league, at the world, that both of them would always know now was there. And they knew now why Ted was the way he was; because he had to be, completely and utterly.

After a while, Ted fell silent again, and they could see his core fold in on itself. Roy stumbled down the sand behind him; and, haltingly, put his arm around Ted’s shoulder.

“Let’s get in the fucking car now, please? It's freezing."  


****

Jamie had been driving in silence for about an hour and a half, reveling in returned control of his own radio. The two drunk men had taken over the back seat. 

Ted was nodding off periodically, then jerking awake with shock. He still looked a little disconsolate.

Roy thwacked him gently on the arm. “Eh, when did you last have a proper sleep?”

“It’s all right, I grabbed a room at the Kidd when I got in.”

“That’s as maybe, didn’t answer my question though.”

Ted didn’t respond to that, so Jamie jumped in.

“Probably before the Barnsley match, I reckon.”

Roy growled. “Aw right, thassit, we’re going straight back to mine and you’re kipping in my guest room. I won’t hear anything against it.”

Ted raised his eyebrows. “Won’t Keeley mind?”

“Not when she gets to tell Rebecca I’m bringing back from the clutches of the pixies in one piece.”

“Oh yeah. You’re going to have to explain that one to me when I’m sober, though.”

The car was silent again for a bit, but Jamie surrendered to curiosity.

“What’s Duluth?”

That perked Roy’s interest as well. “Yeah, and Beard mentioned something about Memphis.”

Ted looked crestfallen and amused at once. “Yeah, well...this...you know tonight, this isn’t quiet the first time something like this has happened.”

Roy nodded. "Not the first time you've pulled this. And?”

“So, we had a game in Memphis, Tennessee, and we won, everything was fine, but I kinda… freaked out.”

Jamie prodded this time. “And?”

"I kind of...ended up in...Duluth Minnesota.

This meant nothing to Jamie, but Roy obviously was doing the math in his head.

“Jee-zus, that’s about a day’s drive away.”

“That it is, that it is. Beard never said anything, but I did pay for all his gas. And a new set of tires.”

All three broke down in laughter.

When Jamie calmed down, he rejoined, “I guess we’re lucky that at a certain point in the UK, you just reach the sea.”

He heard no response from the rear seat. And when he turned to check, he saw that Ted, who had already been teetering to the side, had fallen asleep on Roy’s shoulder.

Jamie looked eyes with Roy. Peace was declared for that night, as Jamie reached to turn down the radio. And the Range Rover silently crept over the moonlit roadway, back toward London.

*fin*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (There is, probably, no actual Captain Kidd pub in Falmouth, Cornwall, though there is one in Falmouth, MA, USA. All apologies for preceding inaccuracies about Cornwall and any implicit mockery. ;)


End file.
